Best Friends
by truemizzie
Summary: I spent a month there one night. In David's mind, this was nothing but a joke. In Jack's, it was a memory that he knew only three people had really known.


Summary: In David's mind, this was nothing but a joke. In Jack's, it was a memory that he knew only three people had really known. Spot assists in the saving of Boots and Snipeshooter.

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Rating: PG

Best Friends.

They were the best of friends, who could only act ignorant to how the world saw them. One of them was older for his age, already a smoker. So was the other, but for his colour instead. In reality, they were very young, but this wouldn't stop them from seeing things most grown men never had.

"I spent a month there one night."

In David's mind, this was nothing but a joke. In Jack's, it was a memory that he knew only three people had really known.

Boots and Snipeshooter had gone to Brooklyn as no more than a game, to see if they could fit in among the ranks of the Brooklyn newsies. At first everything was fine, and nobody seemed to really care that they were there. Then they were found out.

Spot Conlon was no more than Patrick Mordo when this story was created. He was new, but could recognize faces like no other newsie. Almost as a joke, he pointed out the two children to Brooklyn's current leader - Tops - and expected them to be thrown back across the bridge, giving the Brooklyn-ers a good laugh. Then their presence was taken as far more than a joke.

"Dumb Kelly spying on us, now is he?"

Patrick watched as the boys were interrogated. They were a few years younger than him...maybe nine or ten...yet they were being treated as adults. He closed his eyes as they were beaten. Some of the group joined in, but he couldn't. It was clear that they were innocent. The boys shook their heads to every question, insisting that they weren't doing anything bad. Patrick wondered why Tops was being so forward with his questions, why he was so worried about Jack Kelly, but didn't allow himself to say anything. The boys were kidnapped quite loudly, under the hopes that Manhattan would find out quickly. Patrick was made their guard.

"What do you want to do with 'em?" he asked the leader as the two boys were placed into a small, dark room with him.

"I don't know," Tops answered with an unsettling smirk.

"Why do you want 'em?"

"You'll find out."

Tops left in nearly a strut.

Patrick watched the two boys comforting each other, tears forming in the brims of their eyes. Eventually, in a short time (as these things always are with children), the dark skinned one was asleep on the other's shoulder, who was also taking advantage of a nap, arm around his friend. By the next hour, he was informed of "the plan." He was horrified.

Tops had never been a good leader. No…he had been a great leader. He had just done it for all the wrong reasons. But this was worse than anything he'd ever done. He was going to threaten death upon the children if Manhattan didn't surrender all their loyalties to him and send Jack Kelly out of New York, to never come back. Patrick knew he wouldn't hold back. He was suddenly overcome with a sense of responsibility.

Swiftly, he shook the two boys awake. They stared at him with faces so frightened he didn't know whether or not to continue.

"Look-" he began.

"Please don't hurt us!" the light skinned one hissed at him. Patrick eyed him.

"What's your name?" he asked. The boy hesitated. "Just tell me your name. Nothing else."

"Snipeshooter."

"Well then…Snipeshooter…you want me to help you, don't you?"

"Yes."

Patrick let his face soften for the sake of the kids. He stood up.

"Here. I can get you out of here…but just one at a time." He told them. "Come on," he motioned to Snipeshooter.

"Why me first?"

Patrick turned around. There wasn't a reason. Not in his mind. Although…something in the back of his head told him race may have had something to do with it. _No_, he told himself. _That's a horrible thing to think._

"Look, I don't got a lot of time, okay? Just follow me."

"No. Take Boots first."

"What are you talking about? Your life could be at stake here. Don't you get that?"

The boys looked frightened for a second.

"Take Boots first."

"Snipes, no. You first."

"Boots!"

Patrick was surprised at the kindness both boys were showing.

"You'd give up your safety for him?" He asked Snipeshooter.

"He's my best friend."

"Don't take me first," Boots begged. In his mind it was a question of caring for his friend. To the world, it was knowledge of status. "I'll do anything…"

"I'll pay you. All the money in my pocket right now," Snipeshooter pulled out a few cents. Patrick was nearly amused.

"I'll give you…I'll give you all my good shooters. New ones every month."

Snipeshooter turned to Boots, a sad look on his face.

"You love your shooters." Boots looked to Patrick.

"Take him first!"

"No!"

Patrick made the decision. It was now or never, he knew. Grabbing Snipeshooter, he made for the door. The boy was back in Manhattan before he knew it, clear tears running down his face. Racetrack Higgins comforted him as Jack and Patrick spoke.

"Thanks for bringin' him back," he began cordially.

"No problem…" Patrick told him. He watched as the leader was making his way towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get Boots."

"I don't think we'll have much luck with him."

Jack turned around. "What are you talking about?" Patrick shrugged.

"It's been too long."

"I'm not just going to leave him!" Patrick was surprised at the sudden outburst of anger.

"Look, you really shouldn't go back there. Even _I_ can't."

"I'm not just going to leave him behind. He's a kid."

"Are you insane!? It's your head that they want!"

"Then that's the price I'll have to pay. Bumlets, Blink, Skittery…we're going to Brooklyn."

The others, who had been listening, followed obediently. They went out the door without another word.

"He's crazy," Patrick mumbled.

"And you're not?" Racetrack looked up from the young boy in his arms. Patrick shrugged, an amused smirk on his face.

"Who are these kids, anyways?"

Snipeshooter also looked up. Racetrack softly told him to go and wait in the Bunks. When he was gone, Racetrack stood and approached Patrick.

"Snipes…up there…he's my brother. He's a good kid."

"Yeah, he is," Patrick agreed, remembering his plea.

"Sometimes…sometimes he just doesn't get things, you know?"

"Get what things?"

"Well, Boots - the other one," Patrick nodded. "He's a good kid, too. I think he's a little smarter, though. He gets…social stuff."

Patrick understood.

"So what, though? I mean…why should any of that stuff come between a friendship?"

"You just say that 'cause you're smart," Racetrack laughed. He motioned towards the door. Again, the motion was understood.

Patrick grabbed his face, annoyed, then followed behind Jack and his boys. He caught up with them with ease. The joys of being small.

They arrived in Brooklyn quickly, but not quietly. Jack and the other Manhattan boys were overcome with enemies, and could not proceed. Patrick could have kicked himself for coming up with his next idea. Using the secret passageways (which were blocked, but the guards were easy to fight off) he found the window that led to the room Boots was being held in. Boots was not alone. Tops was with him.

"Great," Patrick mumbled. The next thing he did was probably the dumbest he'd ever done. He opened the window and walked in boldly. Tops immediately grabbed the child and held him by his neck. Patrick noticed that Boots had a black eye.

"He'll get a lot worse if you don't go away right now," Tops warned. Patrick didn't move.

"Are you stupid?"

"Apparently."

"Sorry?"

Patrick was overcome with heroism.

"Well, if I joined up with you." He shrugged.

Tops tossed Boots to the side, who landed with a loud thud. There was a short fight in which Patrick had no idea whether or not he _or_ the child would get out alive. Then, while he was being held in a choking position, he heard a loud collision. It was Jack's foot with Tops' head. It turned out to be a very easy rescue.

That night, many political decisions were made. Patrick became the leader of Brooklyn, since the other leader had 'mysteriously' disappeared. He called himself Spot: the perfect opposite of Tops.

The children were reunited in Manhattan. They embraced in the same way brothers embrace when one has come home from spending years away from home. Spot saw it as immaturity. Jack saw it as a true friendship.

Like promised, Boots gave up his best shooters every month. Spot was constantly amused by this…he would've rescued them both even without the toys, but would never say _that_ aloud.

Years later, after coming to Manhattan from Brooklyn to spread news of the strike, Boots woke in the middle of the night. He made his way over to Snipeshooter's bed and woke the boy, sitting beside him against the wall.

"I had another nightmare," he stated, simply. Snipeshooter silently wrapped his arm around Boots' shoulders as the boy rested his head against his shoulder. Like the moment years before, they were asleep quickly.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading this fiction. It's just a plot bunny that came to me today after school. I'd love it if you'd leave me a review and tell me what you thought!


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